


Third Time's the Charm

by purewanderlust



Series: Three Simple Steps (To Falling in Love With Your Kid Brother) [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:39:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firsts, lasts, and everything in between. Love is a slow burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time's the Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is _finally_ done and I hope you all enjoy it! It was initially a one shot and it kind of spiraled out of control, but I'm pretty pleased with the results. I took a few liberties with the canon for this last part and peppered it with my own personal headcanons, obviously. Please feel free to drop me a line if you enjoy it or have some constructive crit! Thanks for reading!

It's amazing how good you can get at denial if you focus hard enough.

At least that's what Dean tells himself every time he catches himself turning towards Palo Alto. It's not stalking to show up outside someone's apartment, car parked ten blocks away because he would recognize the sound of the engine revving, it's just brotherly concern.

It's definitely not because he misses his brother like a lost limb. No, it's just that order, still hard-wired into his brain: _Look out for Sammy_. Even if Dean _is_ the one who chased him away with harsh words and a desperation to save him.

Anyway, it's not like he goes to Stanford all the time. He can count on one hand the number of times he's casually passed the campus since his brother left a year ago. He just has to make sure that Sam's doing okay, that’s all. And, sure enough, he is. He’s got good grades, friends, even his own apartment. He’s started dating recently, and he seems genuinely happy.

Happy without Dean.

*

Then Sam calls him for the first time.

It's been a year to the day since he got on that Greyhound and vanished out of his brother's life. Sam's always had something of a dramatic streak.

Dean's flopped out on the bed in his single room (motel theme: cowboys, there's even a lamp with a ten-gallon hat for a shade), well on his way to being drunk when the phone rings. After a few minutes of confused fumbling, he finally gets the phone in hand, but whoever it was has already hung up.

"Whatever, I didn't want to talk to you either," Dean says to the screen. Immediately the phone lights up in his hands like it understood him, flashing an unfamiliar number.

"…‘lo?"

"You're a fuckin' asshole, you know that?" Sam's voice, though slightly slurred, is immediately recognizable and Dean jerks upright in surprise, clipping his head on that stupid lampshade.

"Sam?"

"You're an asshole," he repeats and yeah, he's definitely drunk. Dean knows he should probably hang up, but Sam sounds so sad and Dean misses him terribly. He stays on the line. Maybe he's not the strongest person in the world.

"It's been said," he answers cautiously, "But I'm not entirely sure why you're telling me this _now_."

"You know what you did." Sam says accusingly, "Going around all like _that_ with the eyes and the lips and the stupid leather jacket."

"Very illuminating, Sam."

"How am I supposed to stop thinking about you all the time, huh?" Sam blurts out suddenly.

Dean's mouth goes dry. "Don't you have a girlfriend to get back to or something?" He knows all about Sam's girlfriend, in fact, a pretty blonde-haired number named Jessica. She's smart and funny, too, from what he can tell, and she doesn’t take Sam’s crap. Dean can't even bring himself to dislike her.

"Deeeaaaaan..."

"We're not having this conversation, Sam." He says firmly, even though he's not entirely sure where his brother is even going with this, "You're drunk. You're always so stupid when you're drunk."

"You're so stupid all the time." Sam shoots back.

"Real mature, kiddo." Dean says drily, "Now if you're done insulting me, I've got to be going."

"No, wait!" Sam yelps and, God help him, Dean waits. There's a long moment where he doesn't hear anything but his brother's shuddering breaths. "You know I didn't leave _you_ , right?"

The silence as Dean takes that in seems to last forever, and suddenly he’s so angry he’s trembling.

"Fuck you, Sam." he says shakily and hangs up before the younger Winchester can say any more.

Sam doesn't call back.

*

He stops checking up on his brother after that, afraid that he might get caught. The whole situation makes him want to punch something, but he's not sure if he's mad at Sam or himself. He just tries not to think about it, smothering it with beer and babes and monsters.

It works for about a year and a half.

Then Dad stops answering his phone and Dean can't help but wonder if he's decided to leave too.

That depressing thought doesn't last long, thankfully, because after the sixteenth time in as many days of calling his father, the voicemail has changed. He holds the phone pressed to his ear and listens to John's unshakable voice telling anyone who needs help to call his son, Dean. He feels a flare of something like pride, but it's quickly choked by the panicked realization that one of his only two remaining family members has gone AWOL. He's on I-80 before he's even consciously made the decision.

It's infuriating how everything in the world is so determined to drive him back to his brother.

*

Dean hits Palo Alto at twelve-thirty in the morning and his resolve buckles. Nine hours ago, getting his brother to help him find their father seemed like such a good idea. But standing outside Sam's apartment, looking up at the dark window, Dean wonders if maybe he should just turn around and walk away.

In the end, he can't do it, anxiety and desperation to see his brother propel him forward and before he knows it, he's worked through the lock and is sliding the window open noiselessly.

Once he's inside, Dean realizes he has no idea how to proceed. Sam's probably asleep in bed with his girl and sitting lurking in the dark all night is both an unappealing and incredibly creepy option.

Sam did always tell him that he didn't think things through enough.

The creak of the floorboards behind him is the only warning that Dean gets before someone--Sam--launches himself at Dean. He spins and blocks the first blow, trying to sweep Sam's feet out from under him, knowing that if he doesn't Sam'll use his extra reach to get the upper hand. Sam swings at him again, and Dean throws up an arm to block. He’s using purely defensive moves, but Sam thinks he’s a prowler and he’s gonna wind up with a broken nose if he doesn’t end this soon. The next time Sam lunges for him, Dean grabs his wrist and uses Sam’s momentum to slam him to the floor, pinning him with hands and knees.

"Whoa, easy tiger."

Sam freezes under him. "Dean?"

His face is thrown into sharp relief by the light from the streetlamp outside and now Dean can see his expression for the first time, mouth half open, eyebrows pulled together in polite bewilderment--and everything he's been repressing for the last few years comes rushing back at him, full force.

"You're out of practice," he says, instead of what he wants to say. Sam's eyes narrow and he's flipped Dean before his brother can even react, pinning him to the floor with his knees on either side of his brother’s hips.

"Or not." Dean gasps. Sam leans closer before he's pulled himself together, and he panics a little, and shoves at Sam's chest. "Dude, get offa me."

Sam grabs him by the arm and hauls him roughly to his feet. "Dean, what the _hell_ are you doing here?" he snaps, fingers tightening around his bicep for a moment before releasing him.

"I _was_ looking for a beer," Dean says, because apparently casual denial is the only game in town.

Sam's lips press into a thin line and Dean just knows he's about to get torn into when the overhead light flips on. They spring apart and look towards the doorway, Dean only realizing after the fact how close they had been standing.

"What's going on?" It's Jessica, of course, and she looks suspicious.

"Jess. I--this is my...this is Dean."

Jess' perfectly manicured eyebrows shoot up. "Your _brother_ Dean?"

Dean only has a minute to wonder what Sam told her about him to put that look on her face before his brother coughs uncomfortably and rubs at the back of his neck, an obvious tell for when he's about to lie.

"Dean was just passing through. Thought he'd stop in and say hello."

Jess isn't buying it, though, and Dean knew he liked her for a reason. "Really, Sam, at one o'clock in the morning?"

"I just need to talk to your boy here for a second..." He gives Sam a look, trying to figure out a polite way to dismiss her, but Sam isn't going to play fair.

"No, whatever you have to say to me, you can say to Jess, too." He walks away from Dean to stand at his girlfriend's side. A sudden sense of loss overwhelms Dean and he bites the inside of his cheek before speaking.

"Dad...hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam shrugs, the bastard. "Probably working a Miller Time shift," he says dismissively, "He'll stumble in eventually."

"Dad's on a _hunting trip_ and he hasn't been home in a few days." Dean answers, clenching his fists against his jeans. How he can want to kiss Sam and kill him at the same time, he's never understood.

Sam's eyes widen slightly. "Jess, could you excuse us for a minute?" he says gently and a good thing, too, or Dean might've actually punched him. Sam leads him to the door, a thunderous expression on his face.

Goddammit, this was such a bad idea.

*

An hour later he's back on the road and--miracle of miracles--Sam is in the passenger seat. Dean still isn't sure how he convinced his brother to come along, but he's glad he did.

Sam had climbed into the car still wearing a scowl while Jessica watched them leave from the foot of the stairs. As soon as they'd hit the highway, though, he was out like a light, slumped against the glass of the window just like a million times before, face smoothed by sleep.

And Dean shouldn't stare, but he really can't help the occasional glance over. It's the first time he's seen his brother in almost three years, cut him some slack. Sammy looks _good_ , healthy and content in the knowledge that he can have the things he wants. The things Dean could never give him.

So yeah, this is probably a terrible idea, and he's only got Sam for a couple of days, but for the moment, Dean can't be anything but happy.

*

It's amazing how quickly they fall back into their old rapport, considering they haven't done this together in almost four years. Trudging back to the motel covered in mud, Dean's heart feels lighter than it has in years.

And then Sam looks at him with a hesitant smile playing in his eyes and calls him a jerk.

Dean doesn't disappoint (could never disappoint Sammy) "Bitch." He hurries into the bathroom, then, to keep Sam from taking back his peace offering, or from seeing the stupid grin he can't manage to keep off his face.

He can't quite keep the optimistic note out of his thoughts after that. _Maybe Sam will stay. Maybe we can just be brothers again._

Dean learned long ago that optimism only leads to disappointment, but he’s got a blind spot that’s a mile wide when it comes to his brother.

*

They take the Woman in White out, but it's far more trouble than Dean’s had with a simple vengeful spirit in a long time. (He shot his _car_ and man, would Dad have his ass if he knew Dean had gone after a ghost with bullets, but Sam being in danger has always had that ability to override Dean's higher brain function.) It shouldn't have taken three days, but it did, and now Sam's insisting Dean take him back to Stanford for that stupid fucking interview.

All of the camaraderie that had resurfaced over the weekend vanishes in the last couple of hours heading back to Palo Alto. Dean spends the majority of the trip playing Zeppelin as loud as he can to block out his thoughts as well as any barbs Sam might fling his way.

"So, uh..." Sam says ineloquently, when Dean drops him outside of his apartment, "You should call me when you find Dad."

"Yeah, sure." Dean answers automatically,

"Maybe we could hook up somewhere..." he continues rambling, but Dean knows his heart isn't really in it.

"Yeah, okay."

"It was...it was really good to see you again, Dean." Sam's voice has turned sincere, but by the time Dean's raised his eyes to his brother's, he's turning away and heading up to his apartment.

"You too." Dean says softly, putting the car into gear.

*

He only makes it two blocks before he turns around to go check on Sammy one last time. When he rolls to a stop outside the apartment, a shiver creeps up from the base of his skull and a pit of dread fills his stomach.

Dean's out of the car and running up the stairs in an instant, without even being sure why, but his instincts are screaming.

He doesn't hesitate before kicking in the door and there's fire everywhere. A wave of sense-memory washes over him and he looks up to see Jess' blonde curls going up in flames. For a split second, he's frozen, and then his eyes drop to Sam, sprawled on the bed with a dawning horror in his expression and he moves.

"No! Jess, no, Dean, wait!" Sam tries to fight him and for the second time in his life, Dean is carrying his baby brother out of a burning building.

"There's nothing you can do, Sammy!" he yells, and his brother slumps against him like a marionette whose strings have been cut. Dean barely manages to get him hauled out of the building and to the safety of the Impala before the windows of his apartment explode outward.

The next half hour is a bustling mess of fire trucks and police interviews. Dean forces his brother to go get a breathing treatment, but gives a bald-faced lie when the firefighter asks if he was inside as well. No way he's putting on an oxygen mask.

Sam's eyes widen in betrayal, but it's better than the blank expression he's been wearing since the emerged from the building. Dean'll take it.

The firefighter walks away to confirm that the building is clear and Sam pulls the clear plastic away from his face momentarily. His face is grimy with soot, except for the tear tracks down his cheeks. Dean pretends not to notice. "I guess you're stuck with me, huh?" He tries to smile, but it ends up as more of a grimace.

Dean winces, wants to say it's the other way around, but he doesn't want to upset Sam further. Instead he bumps their shoulders together without looking over. Sam leans lightly against him and it's all Dean can do to hope that he's helping.

*

Sam's grief is like a third passenger in the car, filling all the silence with heaviness and misery. It's in the motels, too, waking Sam up, sweating and screaming from nightmares that are all too real.

Dean hates it. Hates seeing his brother in pain with no way to make it stop, so he finds them hunt after hunt, hoping against hope that they'll distract Sam. Wendigos, spirits, whatever he can find. It occurs to him that maybe he shouldn't be pushing Sam this direction, that his father never found salvation this way, but his brother seems to appreciate it. Everything he does is driven by this desperate desire to find Dad, death and loss bonding them together more than any fishing trips or football games ever would have.

Then Dean almost dies. Sam doesn't take it too well and somehow, he's defied nature and someone else has died in Dean's place.

"You should'nt've done that, Sam," he says as they pass the Nebraska state line into Colorado. "We don't mess with life and death."

"I'd do it again." Sam answers defiantly, "I'm not going to live in a world without you, Dean." His expression is so fierce that Dean has to look away, that terrifying want curling in his stomach for what has to be the thousandth time since he got his brother back. He’s always known Sam will do anything for him, but it’s the first time he’s said as much. Suddenly, Dean doesn't want to have this argument anymore.

"Yeah, well, then I guess I'll just have to stay alive." he concedes and Sam smiles with no trace of the grief he's been carrying for the past few months.

"You fucking better."

*

The next time a reaper comes for him, he knows better than to leave his brother behind, though he won't remember until later.

*

Dad dies. Dad dies _for Dean_ and suddenly he's had two people die in his place in the same year. His father is burning in Hell because of him, and the knowledge is nearly enough to kill Dean.

For the first time, he thinks he can see Stanford's appeal. Why even bother with this life if all it does is take everything away from you? Dean's orphaned at 27 years old, but he feels more like a child.

Sam doesn't try to make him talk, adhering strictly to his brother's "no chick flick moments" rule. Instead, he plays mullet rock when it's his turn to drive, and brings pie back to the motel room instead of chastising Dean about his diet.

It's not much, but it's Sam, and that makes all the difference.

*

Dean feels like he's living his life in flashes: time doesn't flow so much as it skips and jumps, like a highlight reel on ESPN. Except all of the highlights are Sam.

Sam and his visions that terrify Dean more than he's willing to admit. Sam almost dying from that weird demon virus. Sam drunkenly extracting promises from his brother that Dean has no intention of keeping. Sam going missing, possessed, worrying his brother out of his mind.

There are good moments too, of course, there have to be. Sam’s face when Dean tells the manager of that old B&B that his brother collects dolls, Sam laughing when he successfully pranks his brother, Sam kicking his ankles under diner tables, or singing along to whatever mix tape is in the player, even though he professes to hate Metallica.

Dean’s starting to get used to having his brother back. He can't stop himself wanting, but he's an ace at denial. It’s excusable, he thinks, as long as he can keep Sam.

*

Then Sam dies, bleeding out in Dean's arms and it’s the worst fucking moment of his life.

He doesn't want to talk about it.

*

 There was never another option, in Dean's mind. There's no reason for the Earth to keep spinning if Sam's not there.

*

Forty-eight hours later, the yellow-eyed demon is dead, Dean's ass saved by his father one last time and Sam is sitting in the passenger seat, alive and breathing. He doesn't think he can ask for more than that.

Except that Sam knows what he did, knows where he's going, and even though he only looked at his brother like a kicked puppy in front of Bobby, Dean's pretty sure that Sam's going to kill him himself, as soon as he stops driving.

So he drives until his vision starts to blur, and probably would've kept going even then, but Sam turns to him and says in an icy tone: "I swear to God, if you don't stop at the next motel we see..."

Well. This is going _great_.

As soon as Dean's pulled into the parking lot of the Starlite Road Motel, Sam's out of the car, stomping to the front office to check them in, and Dean is starting to wonder if he can get away with sleeping in the car so he doesn't have to face his brother's wrath. Sam shoots him a dark glare through the office window, like he knows what Dean is thinking, and that pretty much answers that question. Even so, Dean takes his time gathering their bags from the trunk, wanting to avoid this confrontation for as long as he possibly can.

Sam, however, has other ideas, and he's back with the key, snatching the bags out of his brother's hands and stalking off to room number 14. Dean follows, feeling a bit like an errant dog and takes a deep breath before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

The lock has barely clicked into place when Sam catches him with a right hook. Dean's head snaps to the side and he bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood. It’s the first time Dean can remember that Sam’s ever hit him full force and for a moment, he’s too stunned to do anything other than sputter.

"Jesus fuck!" he yelps, clutching his jaw, "What the hell, Sam?"

"What is wrong with you?" Sam yells, diving into the argument without any hesitation, "Do you actually have a death wish?"

Dean straightens up, tilting his head defiantly, "Don't be stupid, Sam."

"What happened to 'what's dead should stay dead,' Dean?" his brother snaps, "Do you really have no sense of self-preservation?"

"Of course I do, Sam." Dean grumbles, "Do you think I _want_ to go to Hell? I'm not an idiot."

"Then why the fuck did you sell your soul for me, Dean?"

"What else could I do?" Dean asks and something in his tone must get through to his brother because Sam flushes bright red and then turns as white as a sheet, all in the space of a second.

"I'm...I'm not worth that, Dean." he mumbles, the kicked puppy look making a comeback.

Dean's stomach twists at that, but he smiles crookedly. "Don't be dumb, of course you are. Who else would put up with me driving twenty miles over the speed limit all the time?"

Sam doesn't crack a smile. "This isn't something to laugh about, Dean."

Dean shrugs. "Whatever. Not gonna cry about it, if that's what you're angling for. You girl." He pushes past his brother and claims the nearest bed, doing a pretty commendable job of pretending he's not terrified out of his mind, if he does say so himself.

He's also not thinking of how he’s gonna die in a year and his only regret will be not shoving his brother up against the door and kissing him within an inch of his life. He knows Sam would let him, because Dean's going to Hell for him.

Yeah. He's definitely not thinking that.

Sam lets out a deep breath that he must have been holding for a while and goes to turn on the television, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. Looks like he's gonna let it go, for now.

That doesn't stop him from flinging Dean's copy of _Highway to Hell_ out the window the first time he tries to put it in the tape deck a week later.

*

Personally, Dean would rather not spend his last year dwelling on the fact that he's going to Hell, but if Sam wants to brood, that's all on him.

Which is how Dean winds up stumbling back from the bar down the street at three o'clock in the morning, six months after he made his deal, to discover his little brother completely and totally trashed, even though he’s the one who spent the last five hours in a bar.

Dean's getting pretty sick of Sam's emo crap harshing his buzz.

"Deaaaaaan." Sam says as soon as he comes in the door, "Watch your step."

Dean looks down, wondering what Sam means, and sees pages upon pages of what looks like a very old tome scattered across the floor. "Dude, what did you do?"

Sam shrugs. "It wasn't working. Nothing in there about how to save you. What a waste of time." He brings the whiskey bottle to his lips and drains what’s left before dropping it on the floor with a soft _thunk_.

"Sam..." Dean says warningly. They've already had this argument a hundred times, but his brother is stubborn, "You can't go looking for a loophole or you'll drop dead again."

"Doesn't matter. Nothing's working anyway." Sam looks at him sadly, "You're gonna go to Hell, Dean."

"Yeah, thanks Poindexter, I had no idea." he says a little more sharply than he means to, "Dude, you know this was my decision. I'm okay with it. Quit dwelling."

Suddenly Sam is right in his face and _whoa_ he can move fast for a drunk dude. "Quit dwelling? How am I supposed to do that when in six months you're gonna be gone? I can't _not_ dwell on that."

Dean takes an automatic step back, and his back hits the motel room door. _Shit_. "Hey Sammy, personal space, ever hear of it?"

Sam presses closer, putting his hands against the door on either side of Dean’s head, effectively pinning him between his arms. "And you're still doing _that_ , pretending like you don't want me when I know you do." He leans impossibly closer, whiskey breath fanning across his brother's face. "Why are you still doing that? You only live once, right? Unless you’re me." He snickers as if he's just told a particularly hilarious joke, head falling forward onto Dean's shoulder.

Dean makes a horribly embarrassing choked noise and turns his face away. "Stop it, Sam. You're drunk."

"So?" Sam says petulantly and presses his nose to Dean's pulse point, "You've fucked drunk girls before," he says, mostly mush against his brother's neck, but Dean full-body shudders and finally, _finally_ manages to get his arms to work long enough to shove Sam away.

"Dude, fucking stop it. Just go to bed, all right? I'm gonna go get something to eat." He's out the door before Sam can argue, gunning the engine and spinning out of the parking lot like the hounds of Hell are right behind him.

Okay, so maybe that's not the best metaphor.

He doesn't go back to the motel until he's sure Sam's passed out and then he creeps in and collapses on his own bed.

When he wakes up the next morning, it's to a cranky Sam puking his guts out in the bathroom, with no memory of the previous night.

*

When the hellhounds do come for him, six months later, eyes flashing and jaws dripping, the only thing he can think to do is to smile reassuringly at his brother.

The last thing he can remember thinking before the first beast sinks its claws into him: _It was worth it._

*

So Dean goes to Hell.

He'd rather not talk about that, either.

*

Dean comes back from Hell, too.

He hasn't figured that one out yet, but he's definitely not complaining.

He finds Sam alive and well, but apparently he's using his freaky demon powers again, thanks to Ruby.

Fucking Ruby. Dean hates her so much. As if she wasn't bad enough before, apparently now Sam's come to the conclusion that it's _totally appropriate_ to fuck her.

Dean's not jealous. He's just concerned. It is, after all, a horrifically bad idea.

And then there's Castiel, who dragged him from Hell and seems to be under the impression that he's Dean's personal watchdog. Dean didn't even believe in angels, and now he's got one tailing him all the damn time.

He's not sure when his life got so complicated, but he can't help thinking back to a time when all he had to worry about was whether he had the right knife for the job and if Sammy would bitch more about Chinese or diner food for dinner. Back when he actually felt a little bit like a hero.

Now he's just the fuck-up who gave in and jump-started the Apocalypse.

*

The plus side of all this chaos is that he doesn't really have time to pine over his brother like a goddamn Jane Austen character.

Except for the split second before he drops a coin into the wishing well in Concrete, Washington. Or the clusterfuck with that siren in Iowa. Or when he wakes up from his stint at Dean Smith and realizes how close he came to trying to sleep with Sam Wesson.

Yeah. Well. He's not freakin' perfect.

*

So the whole demon-blood-intervention thing doesn't go exactly as Dean was hoping it would and the next thing he knows, his brother has released Satan himself from Hell.

As faux pas go, it's pretty high up on the scale. But Dean gets it. He's the one who broke the first goddamn seal, after all. So he's not entirely why Sam starts looking at him like he expects (or maybe thinks he deserves) a knife to the back, but unfortunately they have more pressing problems to deal with.

Like the fact that apparently Dean is expected to be some angelic weapon in the battle between Heaven and Hell.

Yeah, he's not really on board with that idea.

*

After they face off with War--Apocalyptic Horseman _War_ , holy shit--Sam gives his brother one of his Very Serious looks and says "We need to talk."

Dean's stomach bottoms out in an all-too familiar way. It's the same feeling he's gotten every time Sam's walked away.

"I think we should go our separate ways."

Dean agrees because he knows Sam will go whether he wants him to or not. He tries to give him the car—maybe then he’ll come back—but Sam just waves it off and climbs into some random guy’s truck with nothing more than a backpack.

Funny how Sam's left him a million times over and it always manages to hurt like it's the first time.

*

Maybe that's why, when Sam calls him a few weeks later, sounding a little desperate, he tells him to stay gone.

Maybe Dean's just a vindictive bastard.

It doesn't last long, though, it can't, because Dean gets a premiere viewing of what'll happen to his brother if he leaves him alone. He won't ever let that happen.

Sam comes back and it's like there's a little bit of hope in Dean's life again. How his brother can provoke that sort of reaction when they're as distant as they are, Dean will never comprehend.

The upswing of this whole shitstorm is that stopping the Apocalypse doesn't leave a lot of time for guilt tripping himself over his feelings for Sam. He's got a lot worse to feel guilty for at this point.

*

He makes it through losing friends, through every injury under the sun, through goddamn _Famine_ telling him that he's never going to be satisfied by anything and Dean's starting to think maybe he's beyond being hurt anymore.

Then two shotgun blasts prove him wrong.

Dean's not part of Sam's Heaven. He doesn't know why he's surprised. There’s a moment of satisfaction as he drops the amulet his brother gave him into the trashcan, but it’s gone by the time he’s stepped out the door, replaced by regret and the taste of ashes in his mouth.

*

Dean is starting to believe the only way to stop Lucifer is by saying yes to Michael. He guesses it'll be worth it if the world can be salvaged. If he can keep Sam away from the devil.

Sam doesn't want him to. Actually tells him that he _trusts_ him not to. It's like running headfirst into a brick wall because even after all this time, he can't deny his little brother anything. Dean wonders if this time it'll be enough to end the world.

*

Somehow it's not okay for Dean to say yes to Michael, but his dumbass brother thinks if he says yes to Satan, they can stop this thing.

 _Over my dead body_ Dean thinks.

*

Then he actually stares Death in the face and damn if he doesn't wish that was a metaphor. Even with a mouthful of deep dish, it doesn’t take a genius to sense the raw power there.

Death confirms that the only way to stop Lucifer is for Sam to say yes.

Dean's world screeches to a halt.

*

Sam says yes in Detroit, just like everyone said he would.

Sam says yes, but the devil is too strong. Lucifer abandons Dean in a warehouse in Detroit while he goes to end the world. No fucking way Dean is taking that lying down. He's not going to let Sam die alone.

Apparently Lucifer doesn't appreciate that. At least that's what Dean's gathering from the fact that he is currently getting the shit beat out of him.

"It's okay," he says out loud, and though it's the farthest thing from the truth, it's the best he has. "I'm here, Sammy, I'm right here." It's like when his brother was four and convinced that the Boogeyman was living under his bed. Dean knew there were no monsters--he laid his salt lines right--but sometimes all that would get through to Sam was his big brother's presence.

The beating stops. Dean doesn't realize at first because every throb of his pulse feels like another fist on his skin. But then he looks up through swollen eyes and Sam is looking back at him.

Sam. Not Lucifer. His Sammy beat the devil.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean,” he says shakily, “I’ve got him.”

He gets one last look at his brother's face and then he's gone, swallowed up by the Cage, along with Michael and Lucifer.

Dean doesn't really see the point of ever getting up from this spot.

But Castiel's back somehow, healing Dean and he wants to stop him, wants to say that the bruises and blood are the last reminders he'll have of his brother. Maybe he’s bleeding internally and he’ll just die, that would be so much easier--

 _You promised_ a voice in his head reproaches. It sounds like Sam.

*

So he goes to Lisa, and she accepts him with open arms. He's not sure what he did to deserve the understanding that she has, but he's too damn tired to question it. He’s too busy trying not to completely break down on her doorstep.

*

Time passes, as it has a tendency to do, but Dean stays the same. He wakes from the same nightmare every night and goes to sit on the front steps until the sun rises, sneaking back to bed before Lisa can wake up. He cooks and cleans around the house for something to do. After a while, he even finds a construction job. Eventually, he gets pretty good at convincing Lisa that he's not completely out of his mind.

But the empty space where he thinks his heart is supposed to be never fills up, just echoing back at him: _Sam, Sam, Sam_.

*

And suddenly, inexplicably, Sam is back.

Dean's torn between the urge to punch him in the face, and the desire to kiss him so hard he loses higher brain function. He goes with the borderline-girly extended hug that they seem to have on reserve for these situations instead.

Then he finds out Sam's been back for almost a year and he _does_ punch him in the face.

The dispassionate expression his brother shoots him in retaliation should have been a flashing neon warning sign. Dean's a little out of practice.

*

"His soul is missing." Castiel says in that decided, matter-of-fact voice that he uses every time he's giving Dean earth-shattering news. "It must still be in the Cage."

Sam still has all his memories, so of course he makes a crack about Buffy, probably remembering the summer he and Dean marathoned their way through the first three seasons. He left before the series ended. Dean kind of wonders if he ever saw the rest, watching with his college buddies the first time he left, or maybe with the Campbells, between jobs when he was letting his brother think he was dead.

"Dude, this isn't funny." He points out, rather than dwelling on it.

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him "I wouldn't know. I don't have a soul."

Sometimes Dean wonders if they're ever gonna catch a break.

*

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about," Sam's voice breaks through his thoughts, "You're miserable all the time."

"I think you forgot this essential part of conversing," Dean says without looking away from the television, "You can't start in the middle."

There's a squeaking noise as the mattress of the other bed protests Sam's shifting and Dean finally glances over, knowing that he's not going to be allowed to enjoy Knight Rider reruns in peace. Sure enough, Sam is perched on the edge of the bed, wearing an expression that could be described as determined, if a soulless person could bother with being determined.

"What?"

"Why would I want my soul back if it's just going to make me feel miserable and guilty about everything?" he looks genuinely confused, which keeps Dean from getting too annoyed. Doesn't stop him completely, though. This is at least the fifth time they've had this conversation.

"You aren't gonna feel miserable and guilty about everything and you'll have a conscience again, which you _desperately_ need. We're not gonna argue about this."

Sam cocks his head and studies him with serious hazel eyes. "But _you're_ miserable and guilty about everything."

"No I'm not. And you're more well-balanced than me anyway." Dean retorts. He grabs up his flask off the bedside table and takes a swig. He's too damn sober to have this conversation.

"You mean because of the incest thing?"

Dean promptly spits whiskey all over the room. He looks over at Sam, who's adopted a mild expression of amusement. "The fuck?"

His brother shrugs. "I'm just saying, you've obviously had the hots for me since we were teenagers. It's pretty naive to assume that I...Sam didn't want you just as badly."

"Oh my God, Sam, we are so not having this conversation." Dean protests, getting up from the bed and heading to the bathroom for a towel.

Sam doesn't listen, following him to the bathroom door like a dog that's caught the scent of food. "What I don't get is why you never do anything about it. I mean, yeah, I guess if I didn't want it too it'd probably be inappropriate--"

" _Probably?_ " Dean demands, "Dude, what the hell?"

"--but if memory serves correctly, Sam made it abundantly clear on more than one occasion that he would be totally cool with you fucking him."

Dean makes a strangled noise somewhere between a whimper and a scream. "You can't say stuff like that, Sam!"

"Why not? You're the one who told me to be honest."

"Not that honest!" Dean snaps, "Jesus." He turns the faucet on cold and splashes his face with some water, but Sam continues to stand in the doorway, watching him. "This conversation is over," he says, but his voice is unsteady.

"I'm just trying to figure out your motivation." Sam answers. Of course telling him to go away wasn't enough. _Great_. "Like, is it the incest part? Because that's kind of stupid. I mean, you've never given a shit about what society says about anything else."

"Dude, shut up." Dean tells him tersely, "Shut up."

"Or is it because it's your little brother and you're afraid that you'd be taking advantage?" the bastard is relentless, "You think I can't tell the difference between physical attraction and hero worship? No soul required to figure that one out; Sam's first wet dream was you."

"I swear to God, if you don't shut your stupid mouth..."

"Or are you...are you in love with him?" Sam looks surprised, like the idea's only just occurring to him, "Like, you love him like a brother, sure, but are you actually in like God's-honest romantic love with him?"

Dean hits him hard enough to break his nose.

Sam doesn't bring it up again.

*

So Dean works up a deal with Death (and God, he's really wishing that he didn't have those kind of connections) and Sam's re-souled and gloriously emo again.

The only problem is that he won't stop scratching the damn wall.

"Did I say anything weird to you while I was out a soul?" he asks one day as they're careening down I-44 at ninety miles an hour.

Dean scowls. "You said plenty, but none of it's important. Don't scratch the wall."

"No, like, did I make you uncomfortable?" Dean chances a look over and Sam's face is flushed. "Did I try to make you do anything you didn't want to do?"

"Dude, what, no!" Dean stammers out, too quickly and Sam's eyebrows shoot up.

"I did! I knew it." He fixes the full weight of his puppy dog eyes on his brother's face. "I'm sorry, Dean, I really am."

"Sam. Stop. Scratching. The goddamn wall." Dean hisses through gritted teeth, "You didn't do anything to me other than embarrass me in public, and that's nothing new. Stop giving yourself an aneurysm over it, okay?"

*

It turns out Sam scratching the wall isn't what they have to fear. It's Castiel knocking it down like a toddler tramping through a precariously placed block tower.

Dean is really fucking sick of trusting people, only to have them turn around and kick him when he's already down.

*

"Sammy, you gotta wake up, okay?" he whispers, feeling more than a little desperate, "I don't know what I'm gonna do if you don't. Cas has gone off the reservation, Bobby says you might never wake up and I--" Dean clears his throat, trying to maintain a sense of manliness, even though there's no one around to see "--I don't think I can keep going if you don't. Don't leave me here, man."

Sam doesn't respond. Dean isn't sure why he expected anything different.

*

Cas has opened Purgatory and now he's high on a power trip and Dean is ninety percent certain that he's going to kill him, and Bobby, too.

 _Well,_ he finds himself thinking, _Saves me the effort of doing it myself if Sam doesn't wake up._

But Sam _is_ awake, and he's there, behind Castiel with an archangel's blade in hand. It doesn't do much in the way of stopping their former friend, but Dean is too elated to see his brother up and functioning to even care about all that.

*

Of course, their luck being what it is, it doesn't take long before Sam's delirious again, spinning in an empty warehouse with a very not-empty gun clutched in his hand.

"This is real, Sam." Dean tells him, "You gotta believe me."

And to his amazement, Sam does.

*

After Amy, Dean is constantly on edge. He can't believe that killing her was the wrong choice, but he knows what'll happen if Sam finds out.

So of course Sam finds out.

This time, when he leaves, Dean can't even find it within himself to ask him not to.

*

It's a relief to see Sam again, to know that he's doing okay in spite of all of his shit, but it gets even better when Sam follows Dean to his car-of-the-week.

"I thought it'd be better if we just took one car." he says haltingly and Dean gives him the most genuine smile he can manage. 

 

“You’re…you aren’t still pissed at me?”

  
Sam shrugs, “I guess, a little, but I get why you did it. Besides, we need to be together. Nothing’s ever right when we aren’t.”

 

It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to telling Dean he missed him while he was at Stanford, but it’s more than enough.

 

“Yeah, well, don’t expect your cutesy speech to change anything,” Dean says with a smirk, “Driver still picks the music, bitch.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

*

 

Being Winchesters, though, nothing good can possibly last. Dean should’ve realized it before Bobby flat-lined in front of his eyes, but he’s always hoped that it would all balance in the end. He doesn’t believe that anymore.

 

Mom, Dad, Ash, Jo Ellen, Rufus, Cas, Bobby—countless others. There’s no one left but him and Sam. He catches his brother’s gaze over the funeral pyre, feeling like there’s something hard stuck in his throat. Sam’s eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

 

It’s like being orphaned all over again.

 

*

So maybe Dean isn't taking Bobby's death very well, but he doesn't really know what to do. The hits have been coming for as long as he can remember, and if things keep going this way, one day Sam will be gone too and Dean will just be sitting alone, wondering how it came to this.

He tilts Bobby's flask to his lips and has barely gotten a taste of the liquor before Sam's snatching it out of his hands.

"I'm right here, Dean." he says in a calming voice. "We're gonna be okay."

Dean thinks if he were maybe less drunk, he would fight back, but his limbs feel like they're molded from concrete, so he just stares up at his little brother's face and smiles, slipping sideways into a dream.

*

Eventually, the hallucinations get to be too much for Sam and Dean finds him locked in the mental ward of some hospital in the middle of nowhere. Just another blow in the unending fight that is their lives.

"I'm too tired." Sam tells him and it's like he's twisting a knife into his brother's chest.

"No. I'm gonna fix this, Sammy, you're gonna be okay."

It's not like he hasn't contended with worse for his brother.

*

Of all the people Dean would have expected to encounter in his quest to save Sam, Cas was not one of them. Especially a Cas with no memories of the Winchesters, or of his horrible betrayal.

How do you get angry with someone who doesn't remember what they've done wrong?

Only then Meg shows up (and if that isn't a blast from the past, Dean doesn't know what is) and shows the angel how to unlock his memories. Even with all the anger he's felt over what Cas did to Sam, Dean doesn't want to see that anguish on his face.

That doesn't mean he isn't glad when he gets Sam back. Cas is his friend, but Sam is his everything.

*

The day after they leave Cas in the psych ward, Dean drives until he can't see straight, pushing whatever god-awful clunker Sam had found for them until it starts rattling.

"Well," he says loudly, to be heard over the engine, "I think that's all she wrote." He steers the wheezing car into the parking lot of a middle-of-nowhere dinner and it gasps and shudders to a stop. "Guess we're gonna have to find something else."

Sam follows him into the restaurant and a perky little brunette with big tits and flashing white teeth sits them at a booth near the back of the restaurant.

"What can I get for you, sweetheart?" she asks Dean, batting her eyelashes and generally doing her very best to ignore Sam's existence. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees his brother go stiff in his seat, a scowl playing across his features.

"What's good?" Dean asks, glancing up at the waitress through his eyelashes. She gives a sharp little intake of breath just as Sam huffs out one of annoyance. Dean grins. He's not sure who he's trying to wind up more, Sam or "Bee," as her carefully-placed name tag reads.

"We've got chicken and dumplings to die for," she says, half a giggle, "And the best apple pie in the tri-state area."

Dean perks up at that. "Well if that doesn't just sound perfect, Bee." He shoots her another smirk, "Bring me that and a black coffee, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind _at all.._."

"I'll have the apple pecan salad and a water, thanks," Sam says abruptly, snapping his menu shut and shoving it into the surprised waitress' face.

"Dude," Dean says as the waitress hurries away, "What'd you do that for?"

Sam's studying him intently, like he's trying to find something in his brother's face and Dean inexplicably feels a thrill of anticipation. But instead of answering, Sam just says: "You're impossible," and kicks him in the shin, hard.

"Ow, fuck!" Dean yelps, and kicks back. Sam's face breaks into a troublemaking grin (fucking warmonger) and he hooks his ankle behind his brother's knee, yanking him forward into the table. Oh, it is so on.

By the time Bee comes back with their food, they're deeply engaged in a childish battle, flicking sugar packets at each other across the table.

Dean's flirtation is long forgotten.

*

Dean's earlier prediction is proved correct when they leave the diner (a crisp ten dollar bill stuck under the edge of the plate, and an apologetic smile to the waitress the only evidence that they'd been there) and the car refuses to start. After a couple of tries, Dean shrugs and goes to unload the trunk.

"We can just stay in that place across the street," he says as Sam comes around the back of the car to join him, "We'll find something else in the morning."

They dig all of their stuff out, hips brushing together as they try to block off a view of the trunk from any passersby. Dean feels better than he's felt in weeks. Though the guilt at leaving Cas, and the grief from Bobby's death are still close to the surface, nothing can quite compare with having Sam whole and well at his side again.

Sam bumps their shoulders together companionably as they cross the road, and then goes into the lobby to get a room. When he comes back, he tosses the keys to Dean with a smile and follows him down the length of the building.

It feels good, normal, like they were before demons and angels and Leviathan. Back when it was just Sam and Dean, driving cross-country, saving people, hunting things.

Then Sam shuts the motel room door and before Dean even knows what's happening, Sam's grabbed his arm and swung him around to pin him against the wall, both wrists caught tight in his brother's grip.

"Dude, what the fu--" Dean tries to protest, but Sam is talking over him.

"We're going to do this now because it's something we should've done a long time ago." his little brother says in a rush, "And I am so, _so_ tired of waiting."

"What are you talking about, Sammy, lemme go." Dean flexes his hands experimentally, but Sam's caught them tight, and his hip is pressing into Dean's stomach. "Nngh." Dean adds involuntarily.

"I could let you go," Sam agrees, "And we could have this conversation like adults. Do you think you could manage that?" His voice takes on a dark quality at the end and Dean feels his pulse kick up a notch, something curling hot in his stomach. He nods, forgetting for a moment what he's even agreeing to and Sam releases him.

"Take a seat." Sam says, still in that weird authoritarian tone and Dean drops onto the edge of the nearest bed without arguing.

"I thought I didn't have to be subjected to chick-flick moments unless someone was drunk or dying." Dean complains, "I know you're a big fan of this pansy emo crap, but I'm really, really not."

"That's a great place to start, Dean," his brother says, as if Dean were offering helpful conversation pointers rather than whining, "Neither of us is injured, dying, drunk, soulless, or getting ready to be dragged to hell. We're not about to become angelic vessels, or high on weird-ass Turducken goo."

Dean nods emphatically, "That's what I'm saying! We're practically in a good place right now, why you gotta mess it up with your girly talk-about-our-feelings crap?"

"Because, Dean, you don't seem to be willing to take me seriously when I'm not in a perfectly stable place." Sam gives him a heated gaze and all the sudden Dean gets it.

"Oh no." He says climbing to his feet, "We're not going to have this conversation again, I told you already."

Sam's too fast though, and he barely makes it to his feet before Sam's got him backed up against the wall again. "Too bad." he says and that command is back in his voice, making the hair on the back of Dean's neck stand up. "I've been waiting to have this conversation for fifteen years, and by God you're gonna listen."

Dean doesn't really know how to counter that.

"Maybe I haven't made myself clear enough in the past," Sam says quietly, "But I want you. I have always wanted you and I know you want me too." He looks straight into his brother's eyes, daring him to argue. Dean can't make his mouth work, let alone put on a good front of denial.

"What I can't figure out is why you won't just accept it." Sam continues, just as he had before, when he'd been without a soul. The difference is striking, though, and Sam looks at him, hazel eyes full of concern. "Why, Dean? Explain it to me."

Dean feels kind of sick. "I'm your brother."

"If you want to get particular, you're practically my mother and father too." Sam points out and Dean flinches, "Don't make this about that--we're already so far outside the realm of social convention, do you really think this will be any different?"

"Sammy..."

"Are you seriously worried that I don't know what I'm getting into?" Sam presses, "Worried about taking advantage? I'm almost thirty years old, Dean, I don't think that is an issue either. So what is it?"

Sam's face is too close and the pleading note in his voice makes Dean's stomach churn. "I wasn't in your Heaven, Sam," he whispers, hoping his brother won't hear.

Of course he does. Sam jerks back like Dean's slapped him. "What is that supposed to mean?" he demands.

"I don't blame you," Dean tries to sound reassuring, "You've never needed me as much as I need you. It's okay, it's normal."

"That's what this is about?" Sam's eyes are suddenly blazing and he's back in Dean's personal space, "You think I don' t love you as much as you love me?"

It's the first time _that word_ has come into the conversation and Dean stares, wide-eyed up at his brother, heart rabbiting in his chest. "You really shouldn't." he answers, "I'm not worth that."

"That's such bullshit!" Sam snarls, shoving Dean back against the wall again. "You're everything, Dean! I beat the devil because of you!" Abruptly, Sam's face goes from angry to tremendously sad. "Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

Dean shrugs, looking anywhere but his brother's face and Sam let's out a huge sigh. "Good things do happen, Dean."

"Not in my experience." Dean retorts, focusing on a spot over Sam's shoulder so he doesn't have to look at his brother's face.

 

"Dean..." Sam breathes, "You have to believe me. I--" he cuts himself off abruptly. "I'll prove it to you." And then he's backing away, going to dig through his duffle.

 

For a moment, Dean considers bolting, taking off for a few hours so Sam can compose himself and they can pretend this never happened. But curiosity keeps him frozen.

 

And okay, maybe a little bit of hope too. Try as he might, Dean's never been able to completely banish the tiny spark of optimism that's always resided in his heart.

 

In the three seconds it's taken Dean's brain to process all this, Sam's found whatever it is he was looking for and is coming back, hand clenched so tightly that the veins on the back of his hands are visible.

 

"I know what we saw in Heaven kind of makes me look like a selfish asshole," he says sadly, like it all happened yesterday, not nearly three years ago, "And maybe sometimes I am, but Dean, you didn't see everything, okay?" He takes a deep breath, looking like he might start to cry and Dean has to ball his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to comfort.

 

"You heard what Ash said about shared heavens just as well as I did," he continues, a little fiercely. (He doesn't use the word "soul mate," which is just as well, because then Dean would've been obligated to deck him.) "And that Thanksgiving wasn't the first memory I saw."

 

"It wasn't?" Dean repeats, a little skeptically, "Then what was?"

 

Sam hesitates for a moment before extending his hand to Dean, uncurling his fingers slowly.

 

Dean's amulet is nestled in the palm of his hand, glinting gold in the lamplight.

 

"Sammy..." Dean starts to reach forward and then stops, "How did you...?"

 

Sam shrugs, aiming for casual and missing by about a mile. "I just picked it up after you..." he trails off and Dean feels a wave of guilt. "Hung on to it. I thought maybe you would want it back someday."  When Dean doesn't immediately respond, he hastens to add: "B--but you don't have to, if you don't want, I mean--"

 

Dean closes his hand around his brother's wrist, pulse pounding wildly in his ears. "Thank you Sam, I love it." Then he reaches out with his other hand and pulls his brother down into a kiss.

 

It's nothing like their first kiss, all those years ago. For starters, Dean's expecting it this time, more than Sam, who makes a surprised sound, hands flying up to grip his brother's shoulders. By the time he finally gets with the program, Dean's already cradling his face in his hands like he's something precious, thumb making idle circles against his jaw.

 

Once he finally catches on to what's happening, Sam angles his head and kisses back enthusiastically, and Dean barely manages to bite back a moan. Then Sam pulls back and smiles, pupils blown wide and tells him in a husky voice: "I've wanted to do that for years," and Dean does moan, breathless. God, he sounds like such a _girl_.

 

"Don't stop, then." he manages, trying to sound a little less ravaged than he feels.

 

"Wait." Sam unwinds the leather cord from around his fingers and holds up the amulet. "Do you really want it back?" His voice is steady, but Dean sees a flash of uncertainty cross his face.

 

Dean lowers his head in response and Sam lets out a shaky laugh, replacing the amulet around his brother's neck. His hand slips down to curl around the pendant against Dean's chest. It's a weirdly intimate gesture and suddenly Dean's powerless to do anything except yank his brother down for another kiss.

 

Sam's ready for it this time, though, licking into Dean's mouth and sucking on his bottom lip in a way that ought to be illegal. His hands latch onto Dean's hips and yank him forward and suddenly there's all this _friction_ and Dean gasps in surprise.

 

"Jesus, Sammy."

 

Sam grins against his mouth. "Do you believe me now?"

 

" _God_ , yes."

 

"Good." He presses another quick kiss to Dean's lips and then backs away, except for one finger curling through his brother's belt loop.

 

Dean makes a protesting noise at the loss of contact, but Sam tugs on his belt loop and says "Bed" and _oh. Yes, that's a really good idea_.

 

He stumbles after his brother and Sam pulls him in, shoving his jacket off his shoulders like he's done a thousand times before, but in this context, it's brand new. He tugs Dean in for another quick kiss before grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and sending it the same way as his jacket.

 

Dean's amulet thumps solidly against his chest, a reminder, and he shoves Sam down onto the mattress before he can get his own shirt off, crawling on top of him, kissing along his neck and collarbone. He nips at a spot behind Sam's ear and his brother goes rigid under him, as if he's been electrocuted.

 

"Dean!" he whines and just like that, Dean is in control. He licks at the spot again and Sam shudders and gasps, clutching at his shoulders.

 

"You like that, little brother?" his whispers, lips still grazing over the sensitive skin, feeling Sam tremble, "What other hot spots are you hiding?"

 

"Nngh." answers Sam.

 

"I intend to find out." Dean leans back on his haunches and studies his brother. He yanks up the hem of his shirt and Sam comes willingly, grabbing at the scruff of Dean's neck as soon as the shirt is out of the way, pulling him back down into another searing kiss.  Dean slides his arms up along Sam's chest, mapping out his brother's ribcage and Sam makes a noise that could almost be described as a whimper.

 

"Dean, _please_."

 

"Please what, Sammy?" Dean asks, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He mouths at the underside of Sam's jaw, feels his brother's hands clenching and unclenching against his hips. "You have to ask nicely." He slides his knee between Sam's legs and rocks towards him.

 

"You are...such a...bastard." Sam gasps.

 

"You love it." Dean smirks. "Now tell me what you want." He grinds down again, feeling sparks of pleasure up and down his spine.

 

"You...only want you."

 

Sam's words take him by surprise and Dean almost loses it right then and there. "Jesus Christ, _Sammy_."

 

"Dean, c'mon." Sam groans, pulling him closer. "Just fuck me already."

 

And Dean can't help it, the full-body shudder that rolls through him at those words. "God, Sam. Are you sure?"

 

"Do I look fucking sure?" Sam hisses, arching up towards him again, "I am going to kill you if you don't hurry up."

 

Dean continues to look hesitant. "Have you--?"

 

"God, Dean, I went to college, didn't I?" Sam snaps, "There's lube in my duffle bag."

 

"You're such a boy scout, Sammy," Dean teases. Sam's lips twitch into a grin.

 

"I had a plan."

 

"Clearly." Dean pauses, looking down at Sam again, "And...you--you're sure this is what you want? Me...us? Because I have to tell you, Sammy, it's not anywhere near that normal you're always talking about."

 

Sam studies him for a long moment, his hazel eyes serious. Then he pulls his brother down into another kiss and this one is so tender that for a minute, Dean thinks his heart might actually break.

 

"This is so much better than normal."

 

*

 

If you think you're hearing about what comes next, you're dead wrong.

 

That belongs to Dean alone.

 

*

 

When Dean wakes up the next morning, it's only because the blinds are cracked at the top and a beam of sunlight is shining right in his face. For a moment, he's disoriented and then the night before comes rushing back and his eyes snap open.

 

Sam's pressed all along his side, completely naked, but for the sheet across his thighs. His nose is buried in Dean's hair and one of his arms is wrapped possessively around his brother's waist.

 

Dean stares at him for a moment, waiting for the panic to hit, but nothing happens. All he feels is the happy thrum that comes from good sex and a bone-deep sense of contentment.

 

"You freaking out?" Sam mumbles into his hair without opening his eyes.

 

"No." Dean says, and then he laughs because it's true. "No, I'm really not."

 

He feels Sam's lips curve into a smile. "Huh. First time for everything."


End file.
